Pressure Point
by Strapless
Summary: No pressure, no diamonds. Or crystals, in some cases. Why Evin acquired his truth crystal and how Miri forced the issue.


**Disclaimer: **It's probably quite clear that I have no ownership claims to the characters, world, etc. I'm simply playing in the world Ms. Pierce created.

**Author's Notes:** Inspired by the Seanfhocal Challenge #17 at The Dancing Dove, but waaaay past the word limit and a bit too much of a tangent to count as a worthy response. But I wrote it anyway. Enjoy.

"**Pressure Point"**

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"_He only bought it to find out if the ladies he courts __have husbands," Buri's second in command put in._

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When I was a little girl I was scared of the dark. It's a perfectly common fear among children and, like most, I outgrew it. Sometimes, though, that fear is still there. It's a perfectly common adult reaction to go on the defensive when given good reason to believe you're threatened in some way. Not so much fear as survival instinct, if you will. Whether child or adult, when reaching for the lamp you feel the same sense of terror at the possibility that when you light it, you might discover you aren't alone.

I was awakened by the feeling that I wasn't the only one in my room. And then I heard the bump.

Now, monsters under the bed are the least of my worries, and things that go bump in the night are pretty low on my priority list. Unless, of course, they're things that go bump in the night that may potentially kill me or cause me bodily harm.

If this had been fifteen years ago and I was my five-year-old self, I would have screamed by now. Maybe cried. Five years ago as a fifteen-year-old trainee I would have been too exhausted to even wake up and notice. But right now as a full fledged Queen's Rider back from a stint in the field and a night of dealing with a colicky pony, my only thought was that whoever (or whatever) it was, I was going to rip their head off for disturbing me.

There. That was definitely breathing. And that sounded a boot scuffing on the floor.

I had collapsed face first into bed and fallen asleep that way. All things considered, it was a pretty convenient position for my current predicament. Quietly, I dropped my arm down and felt around under the bed. My fingers closed around the smooth wood of the unstrung bow and just as quietly raised it.

There was another scuff, this one closer. And now I was really cranky. I just remembered that I have to be up for an officer's meeting at dawn.

Another scuff, and then I felt a hand touch my arm. That's it. I am officially Not Happy.

It all happened very quickly after that. All I know is that when I rolled over one end of the bow caught in the blankets and instead of delivering the whack to the head I had intended to, I took the only option I had left: I jerked it upwards. And hit _something_.

I yanked open the curtains and found Evin Larse moaning and rolling around on my floor in a patch of moonlight, hands oddly clasped to—

_Oh bloody Black God's hell._

Chalk that one up to Rider-trained reflexes and muscle memory. Commander Tourakom would be so proud—if I hadn't just maimed her assistant commander and deprived her of the chance to do it herself.

I scowled down at him. "Don't you know how to knock?"

"I did knock!" he managed to get out through clenched teeth. "You didn't answer."

"So you just decided to let yourself in?"

"I'm regretting doing that now."

He stopped with the rolling and moaning and clutching and gingerly sat up. I saw now that his face was bruised and his tunic was askew. I suppressed a sigh. This looked all too familiar.

"I didn't do that," I said, gesturing with the bow at his face.

He leaned forward, resting his arms on his knees, and grinned up at me in the completely self satisfied way only a man can after doing something that in the eyes of women everywhere is really stupid but apparently affirms some convoluted personal sense of masculine pride. A whack to one spot and they're curled up like giant, whimpering hedgehogs. A whack to another and they're showing it off to all their friends. Men are idiots.

"Want to guess who did?"

"No! And I don't want to hear how, either! Last time you had to hide in a fountain in the rose garden from some heiress' fiancé and the time before that you nearly got impaled on an ornamental spear by some baron. _Ornamental!_ You'd think you'd have learned your lesson after jumping off a balcony the first time. But no, you didn't."

Evin struggled to his feet, using the bed frame to help him. "Miri, are you all right?"

"What does it look like? I just got off duty two days ago, was reporting all day on the Shaila affair, and I've been up all night with a colicking pony—which by the way, I got kicked by, but the thankless little monster is going to live. I'm sore and I'm tired and no, I'm not all right!" The last few words came out at an almost shriek volume. I hope I didn't wake up the Riders next door to me, because more irritable soldiers is just what we need.

Evin looks taken aback at my outburst. There's an awkward silence for a few beats. Then he asks with a slight grimace, "I was hoping you would let me borrow your bruisebalm. I'm all out of mine."

_What a surprise_, I think, eyeing the discoloration spreading across one of his cheekbones. I have one to match just above my knee. There's another on his chin. At least my bruises are legitimate, received in service to the crown. The nasty little thought enters my mind and I seize it with vindictive glee. His are gotten through what? In search of pleasure. Certainly not in the line of duty.

I dart a glance at the jar of bruisebalm sitting on the bureau, recently used, then back to Evin. "No."

His brows shoot up in surprise. "Mithros, Miri, you nearly gelded me!"

Was he seriously just expecting me to hand it over to him like a good little girl? The arrogant pig!

"You deserved it," I snarl, pushing him towards the door. "Maybe you'll learn that you shouldn't go sneaking into ladies' rooms at night. And you definitely shouldn't go sneaking into mine!"

"Miri…" He tries to block the jamb, but I'm still clutching the bow. I brandish it at him experimentally. He steps back reflexively, one hand creeping protectively to—ahem.

"Miri…" He attempts again, but doesn't try to force the door.

I poke the end of the bow in his face the same way I once saw Onua admonishing a mouthy pony. "Get help, Larse. But not from me." Then I shut the door in his face and lock it for good measure.

Not that that's going to do me any good in keeping a former Player out. But it's a start. I glare at the lock, waiting to see the mechanisms moving and hear the click. Instead, all I hear is footsteps walking away.

Men are idiots.

---

In all the years I've known Miri, she has _never_ snapped at me like that.

She had laughed at the rose garden fountain story, even more so when I showed up in her doorway sopping wet. All right, so she hadn't found the spear-wielding-baron fiasco that funny. That one was rather embarrassing, but she had offered to patch up my shirt where the antique weapon had ripped through.

I'd put off visiting the healer's until morning. A bit stupid, I know, but I didn't want to risk the wrath of another irritated female. Just before dawn I headed across the lawn between the barracks and outbuildings as nonchalantly as I could, bruises aching monstrously. I'd risked a look at myself in the mirror this morning. That had been a mistake.

If I make it quick I could secure a jar of bruisebalm from Kuri Taylor and look half decent without being late for the officer's meeting. It won't do any good to have the second in command of the entire Queen's Riders look like he got beat up in a fist fight.

Miri would've found that funny, assistant commander beat up in a fist fight…what in the blazes was wrong with her? Is it that time of month? I know better than to bring _that_ possible reason up, but she's never been one for cruelty no matter what day of the year it was.

I sped up a bit as I passed by the stables, seeing activity inside. Feeding the ponies for the morning, preparing for the day's trainee torture. I thought I saw Miri, but that definitely isn't the reason why I'm walking faster and taking bigger steps. Definitely isn't. I just want to get to Kuri's office before—

_Dammit._

Commander Tourakom just left the stable. And I have to get past her to get to Kuri's.

_Crap crap crap. _

She's headed towards me. Probably on her way to the mess. A strong sense of need for self preservation kicks in, a holdover from my trainee days.

_Don't look suspicious, don't look suspicious, don't look suspicious_…

I look her in the eye and nod when we're a few paces apart. Just acting normally, ordinary morning at the Riders, right? She acknowledges me back and we almost brush shoulders when we pass each other. She slows her stride and pauses almost calculatedly.

"Was it a fiancé or a husband this time, Larse?" she murmurs with complete assurance.

It stops me in my tracks. Damn. That woman could catch the Crooked God himself pulling a fast one, I swear.

She takes a step back to look me better in the eye, one eyebrow arched, arms crossed, waiting for a reply.

"Did Miri—"

"Miri hasn't breathed a word. Your face?" Her voice is steady and firm as ever, but her tone says she won't tolerate any nonsense. I think she picked that up from my own mother, though I haven't quite worked out the logistics of how.

I carefully rub a thumb along the bruise on my jaw. "M'lady told me she wasn't engaged. I suppose her husband-to-be thought otherwise."

All the Commander says is, "Huh," and eyes me. Though her gaze lingers on my face, or more particularly, the bruises on my face, it's more as though she's settling her eyes on something while she thinks. I don't know if that's a good thing or a bad thing, so I just keep my mouth closed and wait.

After a few moments and a few more rays of sunlight peeking over the horizon, she gives me a hard look—the kind that says she knows exactly what I'm up to. "Meeting in five minutes. Don't be late." Then she carries on her way to the mess, as though her progress hadn't even been interrupted for our little chat.

I suppose now would be a good time to start praying to whichever god will listen that I live to regret this—because I'd much rather be alive and remorseful than die in the middle of whatever punishment I might receive. You never can tell with Commander Tourakom. I'm just banking on the fact that she's been rather fond of me up to this point.

---

When I slide onto the bench and begin pouring myself a cup of whatever morning brew is available, Miri shoots me a baleful look across the table. Ouch. She didn't say a single word to me at the meeting.

_Good morning to you too, sunshine._

"Patched yourself up, I see," she remarks on my improved appearance, spearing a bowl of jam with her knife and slapping it onto a slice of toast.

"Killing your breakfast yourself, I see," I reply. "Blood and guts everywhere." It's what the jam and bread remind me of, with the violent way she's smearing it around.

She looks up to glare at me and the knife crumbles right through the bread. She inadvertently spreads jam all across her palm. With a disgusted cry she throws the knife down. "You're ruining my day," she snaps.

"Ruining _your_ day? You didn't get punched in the face last night!"

"That's your own damn fault, Larse, and you know it!"

We're glaring daggers at each other and I'm trying to think of a suitably witty response, but there's the annoying feeling of knowing she's right. It _is_ my own damn fault. I'm about to open my mouth to say something when a small pouch drops between us. It clinks when it hits the table.

We both stare at it for a beat in surprise, and then up. Commander Tourakom looks down at us, struggling to hold a grave expression. It occurs to me then that we must look ridiculously juvenile, two grown Riders having a spat in the middle of the mess hall.

"There are things called truth crystals," the Commander says, pinning me with a significant look. "It might be a wise investment."

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End file.
